One Flew Over the Dove's Nest
by UnhealingMedic
Summary: When The Administrator decides to make a few changes, Medic's life is threatened.  In response, he has to do what's best for his team, rather than obey his contract.   Rated T for TF2.
1. The Machine

I told myself to, "Just work with the title. It's brilliant."

My first story, and TF2 story at that. Not much for pairings, really. If I do end up pairing anyone, it would be Heavy and Medic, but I doubt it's gonna happen.

Rated T for language and blood. Just to be safe, y'know?

Enjoy.

Oh! And disclaimer! I do NOT own any of these characters. =D

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><p>Medic was always the first one awake in the morning. He was soundless as he made his way from his study (where he slept) to the infirmary. The door swung open and closed behind him automatically as he entered. The German was greeted by several coos and white shapes scattered throughout the room and rafters.<p>

Medic proudly housed eleven white doves, all of which he had named and cared for. Reaching into a cabinet along the wall, he extracted a bag of feed and poured a small amount into his ungloved hand. Without hesitation, three doves (Galileo, Archimedes, and Socrates) swooped down and began to peck at his palm. As soon as the food disappeared, Galileo and Socrates flew off, chattering to each other. This left Archimedes in the doctor's palm, nipping at his fingertips.

"You are such a hungry one, Archimedes…" with his free hand, he stroked the troublesome dove with a finger, the bird nuzzled lovingly into the digit, cooing softly.

Medic's kind expression turned cold, "However, I am not so easily fooled. You are never _zhis_ nice. Vhat did you do zhis time?" He stood up straighter, shooing off Archimedes before he scanned the infirmary for anything out of place. His eyes rested on the lid of his cooler, which was slightly ajar.

"Ach! Not zhe cooler! Archimedes, you troublesome _Kind_! I vas keepink zhe extra kidneys in zhere!" he shook an angry finger at the retreating dove before moving to inspect the damage.

Opening the cooler, he peered inside.

"Und _vhy_ are zhere only _four_ kidneys here instead of five? Don't tell me you haff managed to digest an _entire_-" Medic was cut off by the sound of someone else entering the infirmary. Shutting the cooler quickly, he stood up fully to greet his guest.

"Good morning, Doktor." the smiling face of the BLU team's Heavy greeted Medic.

"Guten Morgen, mein Freund. Und vas brings you here so early?"

"I hear noise. Come to check on Doktor. Make sure is okay." the man looked down as his own hands and twiddled his thumbs.

"So kind of you! Nein, I am fine. Just about to go down to zhe kitchen to make breakfast, actually. Es ist mein turn to cook."

"Doktor need help?" his face brightened.

"Nein, danke." Medic gave one last, '_we'll discuss this later_' look in Archimedes' direction before he left a dish of feed on a gurney, turned off the infirmary lights, and locked up.

The two men made their way down to the kitchen, and somewhere along the way, the two had given eachother a quick hug before parting their separate ways until breakfast was served.

Rumor had it that Heavy and Medic were romantically involved. However, whenever someone tried to be sneaky and 'walk in' on any activities, they always stumbled upon innocent pastimes. Last time, Scout burst into Medic's study to find the pair playing cards, the chips were piled on Heavy's side. Not that Scout had _wanted_ to stumble upon the two doing anything obscene.

Oh, no. Of _course_ not.

Humming to himself, Medic pulled out several pans and utensils, trying his best to ignore the one greasy pan riddled with bullet holes and dents that the Soldier and Demoman were so partial to using.

_"Ich bin Ausländer und spreche nicht gut Deutsch…"_ he sang quietly as he cracked eggs, chopped vegetables, set bacon and sausage, and kneaded dough. Covering the meat and turning down the heat on the eggs, he focused on the dough, stretching it out to fit the glass container.

_"Ich bin Ausländer und spreche nicht gut Deutsch!"_

Paring eight apples, he quickly chopped them, added cinnamon, sugar, and butter, filling the pasty with the apple-mix. Medic sealed the top of the pastry with more dough and then stuck it in the oven.

_"Bitte langsam, bitte langsam, bitte sprechen Sie doch langsam-"_ Medic hung on the last note and paused for dramatic effect.

Spinning on his heel, he quickly turned around to shred potatoes into an unfolded napkin to soak up the excess juices.

_"Ich bin Ausländer und spreche nicht gut Deutsch!" _he applied pressure to the potatoes and plopped them into a pan. They began to crackle.

With a sigh, he glanced around at his work. Song finished, Apfelkuchen in the oven, eggs frying, bacon and sausage sizzling, potatoes popping and smacking...everything was on track and nearly ready to go. Medic was one of the few members on the team that could cook full meals that were both edible and delicious. At first, his teammates were skeptical of his cooking, thinking that the Blutwurst he served, literally translated to _blood sausage_, was perhaps leftovers of the RED team after the previous battle. They now realized that even though the German had his crazy-streaks, that he was far from mixing up his two hobbies. They could trust Medic with their lives, and meals.

Engineer was the first to join Medic in the kitchen, sitting down at the long table. He brandished a book and set it on the clean surface.

"Well g'mornin', doc. Smells mighty nice. What'cha got cookin'?"

"Danke. Just a few American classics. Eggs, sausage, hash browns…_Apfelkuchen_…" he added the last food item with a small grin in the Texan's direction, earning a chuckle from the man.

"Sounds great. Thanks!" he picked up his book and proceeded to bury his face within the pages. Medic figured it had to deal with schematics or mechanics. One of the two, he guessed. Engineer was always friendly, unless someone was sapping his sentry.

There was another bout of silence as Medic cooked and Engineer read. This silence was mauled to bits as Soldier, the human alarm clock, urged the others to get up.

"DON'T YOU **DARE** INSULT AMERICA WITH YOUR LAZINESS!" he banged his shovel against someone's door, a shout of protest revealed it was Scout's. "GET UP, MAGGOT! WE HAVE THE _RED MENACE_ TO DEFEAT TODAY!" more protests, this time from Heavy's room.

Soldier was next to sit at the eating table.

"I wasn't aware _Hitler_ taught you Nazis to _**cook**_! What _un-Democratic grub_ are you making us today?" the man set his beloved shovel on the table's surface and patted it gently as he talked.

"_Food_." Medic answered, "I vill do mein best not to taint zhe meat vith zhe _Final Solution_, ja?" Medic frowned at Soldier before flipping the eggs. No matter how many times he'd told his team that he was never affiliated with the Nazis, Soldier kept at it.

The rest of the team eventually trickled in, filling the table. Soon, everyone was served and digging into their breakfast. Medic sat down in-between Heavy and Pyro, giving a kurt nod to both before picking at his own food. He glanced up at his teammates as they ate their breakfast. They were his friends, his family…a very _dysfunctional_ family. Medic had taken notes on each and every one of them and have determined that they're all insane. Even _him_. Some of them were _just sane enough_ to be able to conform back into society once their contract with BLU ended, but the others, there was _little hope_. Engineer was suffering from paranoia, Soldier was Schizophrenic, Demoman suffered from depression…the list went on. He diagnosed himself as bipolar, although he could just be viewed as enthusiastic about his line of work.

Their boss, the Administrator, watched the two teams battle and fight over land ownership. BLU figured that it was entertaining to the Administrator to watch them cry and scream in agony. They also felt that it was an assertion of power, too. She made them fight amongst eachother for her amusement because she _could_. However, hiring and training new mercenaries every time one bit the dust on the field was becoming annoying.

Weeks after this first twinge of annoyance, both BLU and RED teams noticed something a little different in their bases. A shiny gold and metallic instrument hung from the ceiling, sharp rods, dulled at the ends hung from its side like spiders' legs. A screen along the side of the room blipped quietly. The room was their battle preparations chamber, or _setup room_. Cubbies for the different men lined the walls filled with weapons and spare clothes. A gate separated this room and the battlefield.

"What is that thing..?" Sniper tipped his hat up and his aviators down to get a better look at the contraption. The rest of the team stood around, staring up at the machine. Engineer inspected it, then migrated over to the screen on the wall. It was quiet as the team waited for a response from the Texan.

"_Sorry_, fellas. I haven't a clue what this here contraption does." Engineer turned around to face the fifteen eyeballs staring at him. "I think - I think it's best if we jus' ignore it for now. We have a battle to win." he nestled his yellow hardhat onto his head, grabbed his toolbox, and headed toward the gate. The others eventually followed suit.

Medic had learned that in order to be most effective, he needed to train his Medigun on the members on the front lines, for they were the ones closest to _death_. The one man who was always leading the pack, however, was Heavy. He needed constant healing and overhealing in order to mow down or scare off the RED team.

This had all become routine. It was strange to think of war and possible death as routine, maybe even _dull_.

How messed up were we?

Medic cleared his thoughts as he trained the Medigun's beam on this teammates. The alarm had yet to sound, and the Administrator counted down from ten.

The meter's needle on his Medi-pack swam over into the red. The German smiled.

"Heavy, mien Übercharge ist ready." Medic said in a low tone to his partner. RED team members had about six seconds left of their setup time. Five, four, three, two, one…

"Charge me, Doktor!" the Russian yelled as alarms blared, gates opened, and gunshots fired.

With a flick of a switch, Medic and Heavy's worlds became crisp and clear as they were bathed in blue light. Bullets bounced and ricocheted off of their skin. Their heartbeats were strong and in unison, the air, despite being tainted with blood, dust, and sulphur, felt cool and rejuvenating. Being invincible made one feel like a God. During an Übercharge, Medic always took his glasses off, even for a split second just to enjoy the freedom. He didn't need them while Übercharged, and they just got in the way. Time seemed slow and plentiful, so he did his best to enjoy his surroundings before he had to pay attention to battle again.

Their current battle was taking place in an area called Gorge. It was a completely concrete and metal oasis in the middle of a crisp mountainside forest. A flock of doves were perched atop a nearby building.

How serene.

The sounds of fighting made their way back into his ears, becoming louder and louder. Time was returning to normal speed, and he felt his heart falter and skip out of unison with Heavy's. The Übercharge was ending.

As the charge cut off with an electrical spark, Medic instinctively ducked behind Heavy, keeping the healing ray on the Russian. Since the Übercharge ended, Heavy had already become acquainted with one of the RED Sniper's arrows, which was embedded in his left shoulder. Medic had no idea how many times the Russian had been shot, so who knows how many bullets he'd have to pick out of the man after battle. Regardless of his injuries, Heavy kept pushing ahead, turning a corner and making his way up a small set of stairs as Medic trailed loyally behind. The capture point was close, and after Heavy took down a sentry, they both stood on the point, enjoying the silence.

During these lulls in battlement noise, Medic always became uneasy, for it reminded him that he and Heavy might be in for a surprise backstabbing. No footsteps reached his ears, however. More of BLU team arrived, Scout was being carried by Soldier, an arrow lodged in his calf.

"Doc! I've been callin' ya for ages, man! Ever since their Sniper decided to be freakin' William Tell over there with his stupid arrows, th' bastard's been aimin' for my legs!" Scout unleashed a few profanities as Soldier dropped him roughly on the ground. "Is there any way you can patch me up, doc? I wanna get back at that freakin' kangaroo _rat_. This is th' _sixth_ time this week he's done this to me!"

Medic knelt down to examine the oozing wound.

"Mmm…ja…looks like ve vill haff to _amputate_ ze limb…" he brandished his bonesaw as the youth beneath him visibly paled. Chuckling, he patted Scout on the head. "I am just _kidding_, mein Freund." with a smile, he gripped the arrow, "I vill not lie, however; zhis vill schting…" in a single movement, the arrow was wrenched loose, and Scout yelped loudly in pain. Said pain quickly melted away into nothingness as Medic turned the Medigun on him.

Soldier, by this time, had already taken out that forsaken pickaxe of his and ran into the RED base, shouting expletives the entire way as he punished the REDs for not being BLUs. Scout stood up, testing his leg.

"Thanks, doc!" he grabbed his bat and pretended to hit something with it, "Yeeaahhh...this - this'll be good." chuckling, he ran off into the RED base, swinging the bat around at everything and nothing.

The only ones left capturing the point were Medic, Heavy, a busied Engineer, and a fidgety Pyro. Scout and Soldier were already fighting in the RED base, Sniper was outta sight an' outta mind, Demoman was probably sharing a drink with the Australian, and Spy was as absent as ever.

Medic turned around to face the RED base and noticed a bright orb of red. It glinted briefly in his glasses and he attempted the swat the nuisance away. His eyes were drawn over to the left-hand entrance into the RED base, where a narrow space in the concrete (He called it the Murder Gap) was visible. A pair of aviator shades winked at Medic as they caught in the sunlight.

That's when he realized he was about to die.

Medic whipped around to face his Russian partner, speaking frantically.

"Heavy! I haff to tell you zhat I ha-!" the shot rang out before he could finish, the bullet piercing the German's skull.

It didn't hurt.

There was a strange surge of thought before the bullet had made its way through his head, and that thinking time was probably what hurt the _most_. Afterwords, it felt like he had fallen into a lake, cold water rushing around him, drenching his clothes and making him shiver. Medic was well aware that he'd toppled over the edge onto the dusty ground below, landing in a broken heap. His mouth was slightly agape, and he could distinctly hear startled shouts of worry and anguish from…_whoever_ it was up there…his teammates? The cold water rushed back over him, he couldn't breathe. Everything seemed muffled. His eyes slid shut as sound and thought became obsolete.

•

•

.

.

Medic awoke on the cold tile floor of their setup room, gloved hands clutching his sides. The world spun. Where was he?

Medic found that he was unable to stand up right away, and when he'd finally managed to do so, his breakfast disagreed with his actions and ended up on the floor. He found it difficult to concentrate, to think, or even to move…he just stood there leaning against the cold concrete wall in a daze for God knows how long. Just standing there, shivering.

What had happened? Where was his team? Did he pass out? Questions flooded his mind. Why was he still in the setup room?

He staggered to the open gates, leaning against another wall. He'd remembered feeding the birds today…making breakfast…then…not much after that. The sudden urge to sleep tugged at his body as he attempted to step forward. He collapsed slowly onto the ground, face up against the sun-drenched concrete, glasses ajar. The warmth was soothing. For a while, he just laid there, willing to snap out of this fogginess.

Had he been drugged?

The sounds of a far-off raging battle deterred his thoughts. He had a job to do! Pushing himself off of the ground, he straightened his tie and brushed off his coat. The waves of nausea were leaving him, thankfully. Hefting his Medigun in his hands, he trotted off toward the noise.

Strangely, he couldn't hear nor sense any calls for his services. Like their team's Engineer, and maybe even RED's Engineer, Medic had a sort of…sixth sense whenever someone would call for him. It was an annoying twinge in the back of his head that told him that someone needed him, and was outside his range of hearing. He always found them, too. Medic gave up trying to explain it, and just rested on the conclusion that it was "Medicinal Instinct." Engineer was similar, for he always knew when some rotten Spy was sapping his sentry, even if he wasn't there to witness the act.

As quietly as possible, Medic slipped into the RED base, following the sounds of explosions and yelling. He heard the familiar noise of his Heavy's minigun spinning accompanied with shouting. What bothered the German, however, was Heavy's _anger_ in his words. They seemed_ cold_. Vengeful? Had someone been hurt, and he was taking it out on the RED team? He needed to hurry.

Rounding a corner, Medic nearly ran straight into the Russian, who was just finishing up scaring off a few Scouts.

"Heavy! Thank Gott I haff found you, you see, es ist zhe strangest thing, und-" he stopped and looked up as his friend appeared shocked, placing his minigun onto the ground softly as if any sudden movement would scare Medic away.

"You are not Doktor." Heavy's expression was one of unmatched fury and...sadness?

"…Vas? Heavy, I assure you, I am me!" he held his hands up in his defense, worried that his friend might try to hurt him.

"Spy use _bad_ disguise! DOKTOR IS DEAD!"

Nothing could've prepared Medic for what happened then. He didn't have time to duck the incoming head-sized fist that punched him squarely in the face. His glasses went flying and clattered to the ground just out of his reach. The German was knocked back from the blow of the punch, hitting the doorframe and sliding slowly down to the ground. He was fairly sure his nose was broken, judging by the amount of blood that was now pouring down his once-clean labcoat. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and held a hand to his face, applying pressure. The world was blurry due to the lack of prescription lenses in front of his eyes, but when he looked up to see Heavy, he noticed that the man looked surprised.

"I-is not possible." he backed away slowly and then shuffled forward to get closer to the fallen doctor, he fell on one knee to see the man eye-to-eye. "Should have revealed Spy..." he mumbled.

"Do I look _dead_ to you, dummkopf? Vas gave you zhe idea I vas DEAD? Und since vhen haff you been so paranoid of Spies? I swear to Gott in Himmel zhat you-" his scoldings were cut off as Heavy drew him up into a back-breaking bear hug.

"You are okay!" he swung the smaller man around and buried his face into Medic's labcoat, shaking ever-so-slightly. Was he…_crying_?

"Heavy! Vas - Put me down! Vhat has gotten _into_ you? Are you unwell?"

"Glad to have Doktor back." the Russian held him at arm's length to get a good look before putting him down. Heavy's eyes were slightly red. "Have many questions! Have to kill leetle baby REDs first! Let us go!" he grabbed the German's hand and tugged him along like a parent leading a child out of a candy store. They rounded the corner to see six of their teammates standing on the last capture point, the seventh, Pyro, had cornered the entire RED team, trapping them within their setup room. Pyro threateningly waved around their flamethrower, making the REDs draw back every time the instrument got close to them.

Scout was the first to look up when Heavy and Medic entered. His jaw dropped.

"Holy shit, man...it's the doc!"

Everyone turned to face Medic, all wearing nearly the same expression of either fear, confusion, shock, or a mixture of all three.

"SPHHH!" Pyro whipped around and charged at the two, suddenly brandishing a large axe.

"No! No! Is real Doktor! I checked! Just as leetle Pyro said to!" Heavy spoke up, jabbing the air with a swift punch as explanation. Pyro gave a shaky thumbs up.

The control point chose this moment to change from RED to BLU, and the Administrator announced the BLU team's victory.

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><p>'Tis my first story. Reviews are loved. Let me know if you'd like me to continue. =)<p> 


	2. My Condition

Holy cheese! I wasn't expecting so many reviews and favorites and… all of that good stuff. Thanks so graciously much! I'll continue!

**Akatsuki Seal** - Thank you so much! 3

**xTrateltx** - ^^ You'll see in this next chapter. Hopefully it clears things up. I SUPPOSE I could explain what happened right here, but… nah. ;)

**Almond-Goddess** - Why yes, yes it is! The title of the story _IS_ a reference to _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ by Ken Kesey. I saw some similarities between the book and TF2, so I decided to combine everything together. Thank you very much.

**Femimoon** - Thanks! I'll try. xD

**Goshers** - Gosh! That's an absolutely gorgeous review. Made me smile an' blush a little, actually. Thanks!

Sorry about such a late continuation, by the way. College just started and I'm a Freshie, an'… it's been fun. Hah! Oh! And I was planning on doing some artwork to go along with some of these chapters. I'll update as I go along an' such. 3

Same disclaimer as last time - I STILL don't own TF2. However, I _do_ own those four kidneys Medic has left in that cooler of his.

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><p>I miss the days when I could do my practices without fear of being discovered… for I had my medical license.<p>

I remember the times when I could take the bus.

_I looked up from Grey's Anatomy to observe a passenger boarding the Stuttgart transit bus. He had a handkerchief pressed to his face and coughed nearly every time he opened his mouth to speak._

_He's sick._

_I pressed my back to the seat as hard as I could and shifted away from the man as he passed by me to reach a seat. I promptly applied sanitizer to my hands._

You see, I was germaphobic. Rightfully so, for I always got sick, thanks to my leukocyte deficiency.

Taking the bus to and from the University may not have been sanitary or safe, but it was needed. The vile sicknesses that passed by my nose every day twice a day did not render me a healthy man, and I often had to stay home to recover. Despite the bus' hideous conditions, I needed it desperately to travel.

Regardless, when I could no longer return to Stuttgart, I realized how much I actually appreciated those bus services.

_**I suppose you never miss something until it's gone.**_

Only later on in life did I discover I had an immunodefiency, which is the absence of white blood cells in my blood. They weren't _all_ gone, of course, but they were scarce enough to get me diagnosed with the disease. Being the medical innovator that I was, I decided to find a cure.

What I found wasn't a cure, but a temporary treatment. Designed by me, each small tablet amplifies my white blood cells' strength, but only for about 12 hours. I can't increase the amount of white blood cells my thymus, bone marrow, and spleen produce, but I can make them better at keeping me healthy. An interesting side-effect to using this drug of mine, is that I heal when under its influence. If I get a cut, I can, quite literally watch it heal.

I am the only member on my team that, when shot, can recover over time without assistance. Whenever _they_ get hurt, they eventually die if untreated. _My condition_ is what makes me the primary target on the field.

I make sure my team stays oblivious to my condition. I do not want them thinking I am inferior, _imperfekt_.

Defined.

What I do keeps me alive and healthy, however. That is all that matters.

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><p>"Will you <em>stop<em> that? It's gettin' on me nerves!" Sniper looked up at the flurry of papers across the room from him, courtesy of Spy.

"I cannot. I must figure out why we got ours so late, _cher_."

"Ours?"

"Ugh, do not tell me you do not know. Ze _Respawn Machine_!"

"Th' what?" Spy facepalmed.

"It brings people back to life. Ring any bells?"

"Really, now?" Sniper sat up from his seat in the corner, resting his arms on his long legs, "Izzat 'ow Medic came back?"

"Indeed. Ah, 'ere it is…" the European lifted up a sheet of paper in his gloved hands, "It seems that we 'ave gotten ours at the very same time our opponents 'ave… Although no information as to why…"

The door to the intelligence room clicked open. Spy immediately shoved all of the loose papers back into the RED briefcase just as Medic and Heavy walked in.

"…is good to have you back, Doktor! You are making dinner tonight, da?" the large Russian laughed heartedly, throwing his arm around Medic, who looked slightly bothered by the contact.

"Natürlich, mein Freund. Aber, I haff many things to do before zhen. Und hallo!" Medic finally directed his attention toward Sniper and Spy, "Und vhat haff you two been _up to_? _ Hmm_?" he smugly smiled before abruptly changing back to his cold demeanor as soon as Heavy removed his arm from his shoulders.

"Is not nice to tease _lovers_, Doktor." Heavy said, wagging a finger in Medic's face as Sniper's face became beet red, Spy turned away slightly, a frown on his features. He straightened his tie.

"Now zat you two are done with your charades, " Spy started, "I have pressing matters to attend to. Au revoir." with the soft hissing of a cloaking device activating, Spy disappeared.

Before Sniper could open his mouth, Medic stopped him, "Do not vorry, ve are nicht here to make fun of your little _relationship_ vith zhe Schpy."

"Yer one t' talk, doc." Sniper's eyes narrowed behind his shades.

"_Entschuldigung_?"

"… Wot?" the Australian tilted his head.

"I do not - anyvays! Have you found out any information?"

Sniper appeared thoughtful for a second before replying.

"Yeh, it's th' machine, doc. Th' one in th' Setup Room? Spoi says it's somethin' called a _Respawn Machine_. The REDs got one, too."

"So… dis means RED babies don't die?" Heavy interjected, looking a little worried by the possibility of invincible enemies.

"Nah, they jus' don't stay dead. Means y' can kill 'em as many times as y' want. Same goes fer us, too, mate. We don't stay dead." the Russian's expression flipped completely around, showing extreme happiness. He prodded Medic in the shoulder excitedly, "Means I can keel leetle baby Scout many times! Oh, is good time to be BLU!" the large man turned around, toting Medic behind him like a child, "Come! We have preparations to make, Doktor!"

"Ah, er - danke, Herr Sniper!" Medic waved briefly before the door shut behind the two.

* * *

><p>Dinner that night consisted of a colorful display of several types of sausage, cabbage, and other vegetables, along with BLU-brand beer. Medic's escape from death was the talk of the table, and it wasn't long before Scout was busy calling that night's dinner, "Zombie-food."<p>

After dinner, Medic retired to the infirmary. After rummaging through several cupboards, he found a small bottle of pills and, extracting one, downed it with a sip of water and a sigh. After a moment of silence, he brought down a slightly dusty chessboard and small leather case. Opening the case, he removed the chess pieces, setting them up on the board. Heavy was to meet him in the infirmary as soon as he was done with his nightly chores for a game of chess. After a few minutes and a kurt knock on the infirmary door, the large Russian stepped in and sat down across from Medic.

"Is Doktor's turn to go first." Heavy rotated the chess board so that Medic had the white pieces.

"Fair enough." the German nodded and, taking the Pawn in front of his King, he moved it up two spaces. Heavy moved his Knight. Medic followed up by moving his Queen before the pawn in front of his Bishop. After another move, he slid his Bishop over and across, preparing to check Heavy's King. The Russian chuckled.

"Do you not see my Knight, Doktor?"

"Vas?"

"My Knight. He is blocking your leetle Queen from attacking my King."

"I did not even… you _anticipated_ mein moves? How?"

"You are German. I am Russian. Is no big deal." he shrugged, moving his Bishop across the board, taking Medic's Queen.

Heavy dominated him, and when the Russian captured Medic's last piece, outside his King, the German let out a grunt in frustration.

Almost immediately, Scout burst through the door.

"I got'cha now! I totally caught you two _doing it_!" he stumbled, catching himself, realizing that the scene before him wasn't

"P-playing chess, I mean. I wouldn't be wanting to catch you two actually doing it if you know what I mean HEY is Heavy actually winnin', doc? How embarrassin', oh well I guess I should be going now h a n g o u t w i t h y o u t w o l o s e r s **BYE**!" the boy sped out as quickly as he'd entered, leaving the other two mercenaries staring at the spot once occupied by their hyperactive teammate.

"Remind me to schedule an appointment für zhat one, Heavy."

"Da, Doktor. Is your turn." Medic looked back down at his solitary King.

"_Scheisse…_"

* * *

><p>At 9:00 sharp, everyone on the BLU team lined up and prepared for battle. To accommodate for their new asset, the Respawn Machine, Soldier declared for their plan to be purely improvisation, in other words, no plan, <em>just go<em>.

Medic rummaged through his locker and, taking his medication, finally joined his teammates outside.

It was the same location as last time, but BLU was defending, for a change, so the gates opened early to allow them to set up and anticipate RED's offensive strategies. Demoman and Pyro set up their traps of sticky bombs and ambush tactics. Soldier and Scout jogged off to go pester and taunt the REDs trapped behind their gates until the alarm sounded. Naturally, Heavy and Medic stuck together, but hung back behind the two offensive American classes. Engineer lagged a bit behind them, carrying a large sentry in his toolbox. Sniper and Spy headed up the stairs to gain roof access.

Since when were they so _close_ during battle?

A siren and an Übercharge later, Medic was crouched behind his Russian partner as they mowed down the opposing team. A sickening crack echoed through the morning air as one of the RED Sniper's bullets found its way into Heavy's skull. Medic rushed to his fallen comrade's side and mourned briefly before barely getting away from a barrage of bullets from the RED team's Heavy and Medic.

Leaping off to the side, Medic found shelter in an old abandoned metal building. He curled up in the corner, "It vill be okay… he vill come back… ve haff Respawn now…" muttering to himself to calm his nerves.

Suddenly, two pairs of footsteps came to a stop just outside his hiding spot.

"Herr Doktor ist hier. Heavy, vould you allow me to to take care of zhis pest meinself?" a voice asked. Medic stood up, recognizing the voice of the RED Medic. He drew his bonesaw and braced himself.

"Hmmm… da. If Doktor wants. Go and keel baby BLU Medic." the RED Heavy gave approval.

"Ach, danke. I vill nicht be long, Liebchen."

"Careful, Doktor. I hear he bites." the two REDs chuckled briefly before splitting up. The RED Medic turned the corner, standing in the doorway of the little shack. The RED Heavy stood back to watch, looking amused.

"Ahh, Herr. So good to see you alive und vell." the RED Medic cooed, brandishing his own version of the bonesaw. Medic stepped back, eying the strange weapon. He couldn't hear any of his teammates nearby.

"Vas?" The RED stopped, cradling his weapon for a split second with an expression of adoration, "You like? I call it zhe _Übersaw_."

Should he run?

The RED Medic suddenly lunged, a bloodthirsty growl escaping his throat. Medic gasped and leapt back, clashing his bonesaw against his doppelgänger's.

"You seem _quiet_ today. Did out Sniper's _bullet_ from yesterday do _lasting damage_?" he taunted, sneering.

"_Nein_. I know better zhan to strike up ein conversation vith _eine_ _Nazi_." he hissed, swinging his leg out to unbalance his foe.

With a snarl, the RED caught his leg and swung out with his saw, imbedding it in the BLU's side. Satisfied with the contact, he ripped the saw from him, kicking him down in the process.

"Fight over," he called to his Heavy, stepping over the fallen body of the writhing BLU Medic. Bending down, the RED Medic ruffled his likeness' hair, cooing softly to him in German. He stood up straight again.

"Let us go slaughter his pathetic teammates, mein Heavy."

"Da! Sounds good!" the RED Russian clapped his hands and followed the German off into the heat of the battle, leaving the BLU Medic behind to bleed in the dust.

After a bout of silence, Medic stirred, choking slightly as he clutched his severed midsection. It was a nasty wound. He managed to drag himself back under the shelter of the small metallic shack. With labored breathing, he did his best to sit upright. Undoing the buttons on his coat and vest, breath hitching as he attempted to pull his soaked shirt away from the tear in his side, he inspected the damage.

Thanks to his medicine, the gash was already starting to heal. He thanked whatever forces that were watching over him for that; he didn't want to have to take a trip through the wretched Respawn again. Wheezing as he attempted to stand up, he clothed himself fully once again. Medic sighed as he felt the wound close up, but frowned that his once-pristine labcoat was now drenched in blood.

Damn that RED Medic. He always had to upstage him. It wasn't just the Medic, though. The entire RED team seemed to mock the BLUs. They were just poor sports. Probably_ jealous _because they had to live in a barn, as opposed to the BLUs living in a concrete building.

Satisfied with the results of his recovery, Medic made his way toward the battlements, finding Heavy just as he exited the BLU Respawn.

"Is _sickening_, Doktor. I do not like dying." the Russian frowned.

"Nein… es macht kein Spass. Und do not vorry, mein Freund!" Medic patted his friend reassuringly, "Zhe nausea vill go avay."

After a few moments, the two headed off to go topple the REDs' forces.

* * *

><p>"Miss Pauling?" a woman clad in purple leaned forward to inspect one of her many computer monitors.<p>

"Yes?" a younger woman who was standing on the edge of the room approached, fixing her glasses to peruse the monitor the other was looking at.

"Did you see that BLU Medic's recovery?"

The younger woman stood up straight, "Yes, ma'am."

There was silence as the woman at the computer screens combed through her black and white-streaked hair with her bony fingers.

"Why didn't he _die_, miss Pauling? He was supposed to _die_," she whipped around, her face catching the light from the computers, making her complexion appear skeletal, "Tell me why he didn't _die_."

"Y-you see, he takes medication for his-" she started.

"_Medication_? Allowing him to heal at such an extraordinary rate?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was further silence.

"Confiscate that _medicine_ of his immediately," she swiveled in her chair, turning back to the computer screens, "I will not tolerate _cheating _in my war."

"But he needs that medi-"

"Confiscate it." She suddenly purred into the microphone, announcing that the RED team had captured one of the control points.

"Now, miss Pauling." the Administrator didn't budge from her position. She smiled wickedly when she heard the other woman's footsteps departing.

* * *

><p>The BLU team held their dinner outside in celebration that night. They had managed to keep the REDs at bay until time ran out, earning a victory for their side. A large campfire blazed in the middle of where the nine mercenaries sat. They roasted everything from marshmallows to hot dogs to Sniper's unidentified catch-of-the-day. Each member shared their most and least favorite parts of today's match as they clinked bottles of beer and cans of soda.<p>

As Soldier was explaining in gruesome detail of how he'd gibbed and gutted some unlucky REDs simultaneously, Medic glanced at Sniper's watch.

"Ach, may I be excused? I must use zhe restroom." Medic lied.

"Man, doc," Scout shifted to face the doctor, "You gotta go pee all the time, man. You're a freakin' geezer!" he commented, mouth full of molten marshmallow. Pyro prodded the young man with a flaming twig, earning a yelp from the boy. The Pyro wagged a finger disapprovingly at Scout for his poor behavior.

"Go right ahead, pardner." Engineer tipped his hat at the German.

"Doktor need company on way back to base?" Heavy looked up expectantly from jabbing his eleventh marshmallow on a large twig.

"Nein, danke." Medic strode off, white coattails disappearing into the night.

He walked straight to the infirmary, straight to the cupboard he knew so well. Opening it, he removed a few packages of gauze and reached for his bottle of medicine.

Only to not find them. He wondered briefly if he'd placed them elsewhere.

"N-nein, not zhere…" Medic muttered under his breath as he rummaged about.

The German's searching became more frantic. Items were displaced, and some even thrown across the room as he dug around in the cabinets, the drawers, even under the hospital beds' mattresses searching for his life-saving medication.

In the end, he stood stock-still in the middle of the now-messy infirmary. Medic was now terrified. He'd checked every space, every place, every nook and cranny for any of his backup bottles. His brow beaded with sweat as utter realization sank in.

"Zhey are… _g-gone_?"

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Secrets

Thanks for the reviews! You guys reminded me that I needed to update this thing. Sorry for the wait. College is demanding.

I just wanted to say thanks again for the reviews. Half of this chapter is written in the 'old' writing, and some of it is written in my 'new' writing. Hope it's not too annoying. Next chapter will be consistent, I swear.

Once again, I own none of these characters. The very lucky Valve does.

* * *

><p>"Doktor is sick? Is not possible!"<p>

Heavy stood outside the closed infirmary door alongside Engineer, Pyro, and an ever-so-slightly peeved Soldier.

"'Fraid so, big feller. Maybe 'e just needs his rest." the Texan took his hat off, studying it intensely. The firebug patted Heavy on the back reassuringly.

"Hh wll plhh chss wff yhu, Hffhh."

"You will?" the Russian looked into the reflective eyes of Pyro's mask, receiving a thumbs up in return. Engineer fiddled with his hat, testing the cup of it as if to see if it still worked before sticking it back on his head.

"Doktor is still sick, though… "

The group was silent.

"So the nurse has the sniffles!" Soldier spoke up, "I still expect him to be at the gates by 9:00 in the AM!" Walking stiffly over to the glass of the infirmary door, he rapped on the window.

"Y'HEAR THAT, SICK SISTER?"

A muffled groan answered him.

"He'll be fine. He's just being lazy," grumbling, the American stalked off to find a new victim to scold.

After what seemed like hours, the group dispersed, leaving Heavy standing alone in front of the infirmary door. Shuffling his feet, he turned around and headed for the kitchen, returning to the infirmary door about a half an hour later, Sandvich in hand.

As quietly as possible, he gripped the handle and let himself into the once-cold-now-stuffily-warm room. Medic was on a gurney, his back facing Heavy. The larger man placed the food on a table in front of Medic's line-of-sight, looking over at the German. Medic's glasses were askew as he slept dressed fully in uniform. With a sigh, he removed the man's glasses and left as quickly as his large stature would allow.

* * *

><p>With pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, Medic showed up slightly late to his team's gathering at the gates. Once again, the BLU team was defending their last point, and they rushed out early to set up.<p>

The battle did not go well. Medic was the first to die, courtesy of a single bullet along the side of his abdomen; something he would've easily been able to survive, had he his medication in possession. He didn't realize how painful a bullet really was until now. After respawning, the German kept up his streak of death all throughout the battle, even passing out in the middle of fights. The BLU team, without their strong medical support, relied heavily on Engineer's dispenser. With a little help from the RED team's Spy and his sapper, the entire BLU team crumbled, the REDs capturing the point in minutes.

After the little game of cat-and-mouse called the Humiliation Round, the BLUs sullenly returned back to their base. Heavy carried Medic in his arms back to the infirmary, the older man out cold.

* * *

><p>"I find it interestin' how people act differently when they think nobody's watchin'." Sniper leaned back in his chair, his boots on the tabletop. The entire team had gathered for dinner, minus their Medic. Pyro was tonight's cook, and a fire extinguisher was at the ready just in case.<p>

Engineer looked up from the book he was reading, "Y'don't say. What brings this on, pardner?"

"Well, I saw that wanker Sniper of theirs readin' through my scope today!"

"So?" Scout leaned forward in his chair to look at the Australian with a 'so what?' expression.

"It was one o' them girlie mags, mate!"

"Lucky faggot. Wish I could have some magazines like 'dat…" Scout got an angry look from Engineer for using poor language at the table.

"Nono, not _those_ kinda mags. I'm talkin' like, the magazines that _sheilas_ read! With _'gossip'_ and stuff about blokes!"

"Aye, tha's doonright embarrassin'." Demoman chipped in from across the table.

"Naw man. Not even close. Y'know what's a real freakin' embarrassment? The doc's sleepin'!" Scout sat up straight, a fork in his wrapped hand. He continued, "He whimpers like a freakin' wuss in his sleep!"

"Leetle Scout will be quiet about Doktor. Is not feeling well."

"Yeh, mate. Don't be pickin' a biffo with th' doc." The Aussie shook a finger at Scout, "Need I remind everyone about how _you_ sleep at noight?" Scout immediately shrunk in his seat, red in the face.

Pyro arrived moments later with their dinner, cooked perfectly to a burned pile of who-knows-what.

* * *

><p>There were three kurt knocks on the infirmary door.<p>

Medic stirred slightly before becoming unmoving once again.

The knocking continued. The German groaned and sat up slightly, his sleep ruined.

"Urrggh… vas…" he squinted at the clock on the table next to his glasses, "…Wieviel Uhr ist es…?" the clock read to be 6:00AM exactly.

There was one more sharp knock on the glass of the door. Frowning, Medic shuffled over to the door and opened it, revealing no one. He stuck his head out the door and into the hallway, looking both ways to see if anyone was there.

Nothing.

Then his blurry eyes rested on an object on the ground. A small wrapped box with a note attached stood awkwardly in the doorway. Medic gingerly picked it up, eying the purple wrapping. He closed the door and set the box on his desk and read the note.

_-Dear [insert class name here],_

_ We here at Builders League United have realized how detrimental our actions against you and your team have been. In compensation, we give you this, a perfectly-suitable solution for your __**predicament**__. You are required to use it if you wish to stay employed at BLU._

_ Have fun-_

Frowning more, he opened up the box, unveiling a weapon. His eyes widened as he realized what is was and with a gasp, he shoved the package away, the box toppling over the table's edge, and its contents spilling out, clattering across the white floor. Medic shook his head, muttering under his breath in German.

"Vhy vould zhey… z-zhis means zhey know about…" he rested his head in his hands and sighed. Medic stood up abruptly, coughing lightly as he made his way back to bed. He didn't manage to get back to sleep, but rather rested on his back, looking up at the dull ceiling.

"_Vhat an insult. Do zhey not realize vhat zhat weapon is?"_ he asked to no one in particular.

_"Nein, of course zhey do."_ answering himself, he turned his head to glance at the weapon that lay on the floor.

_"__**Der Blutsauger**__ ist not für Healing Medics…Er ist für Combat Medics."_

The German shivered, pulling up the blankets more.

_"I vill not…I vill nicht ever resort to zhat level of…utter brutality."_

_"Never…"_

* * *

><p>"Heavy? Haff you seen mein Syringe gun?" Medic's voice echoed through the hallways from the Resupply Room.<p>

"Da." the Russian's voice answered, "Cleaned it for you. Maybe help you fight better to heal team and kill RED babies!"

The BLU team was getting ready. They were defending their last control point today. If they lost, they would have to be relocated. Rumors said that Coldfront was in store for them if they lost today. Nobody wanted to go to Coldfront.

Heavy made his way to the doctor, holding out the gun to Medic, who backed away from him and made a sound akin to hissing, followed by a sneeze.

"Zhat is NOT mein gun. Zhat is EVIL in zhe SHAPE of a gun." he crossed his arms like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Is gun. Is all that matters. Looks new." the Russian shoved the weapon into Medic's crossed arms, wedging it in against his chest. "Take it, otherwise will not be credit to team." he gave the doctor a stink-eye expression before he turned to go get ready, leaving Medic alone.

Fussing a bit, he examined the weapon. It didn't look as friendly as his old syringe gun, and that said something about its nature, for sure. What did it even do? The Blutsauger, according to myth, was similar to the American Dracula, but how did that pertain to weaponry? He frowned and met up with his teammates, still feeling ill.

He swore that the gun made him feel _worse_, now that he thought about it. How was this compensation for his condition?

An alarm interrupted his thoughts and he whipped out his Medigun, giving his teammates an overheal as they marched out to set up. Medic lagged behind as he did during the last match, but still kept his healing beam trained.

With a countdown followed by another alarm, both RED and BLU greeted eachother with nothing less than hatred and the desire to kill. Both teams' heavies were going at it, miniguns whirring and bullets littering the ground. Both medics were healing their Russian partners, determined to have theirs be the victor of this battle.

A stray grenade lobbed over the fight, rolling and finally finding its way to Medic's feet. The BLU barely had time to open his mouth to warn his partner before it detonated, sending him flying backward, breaking the Medigun's beam. Medic landed and came to a stop with a quiet thud, barely audible over the war's noise. He stirred, breathing shallowly as he got to his knees and called out for his heavy.

Medic looked up in time to see his partner get mowed down, the RED doppelgängers laughing heartedly at Heavy's demise. He felt sick, and not just because of his condition, but because he'd let down his team. His Heavy, especially. He should've been paying attention to the demoman off to the side. Nausea welled up in his stomach, and he gagged along with a cough.

The German focused in on his opposite, narrowing his eyes.

That RED bastard. So smug. Always laughing at the most horrid of things. Always getting improved weapons. Anger replaced nausea in his stomach as he willed himself to stand up, the new feeling of determination and utter hatred for the RED medic fueling his actions.

He had a new weapon, though. Something that wretched RED didn't have. Medic glanced down at the gun in its holster, glinting devilishly in the sun's rays, just waiting to be used to shut up his opposite that _dared_ call himself a medic. The doctor briefly regarded these unfamiliar feelings, perhaps spurring from the Blutsauger itself. Begging for its use. Pleading to put an end to the RED medic's domination over him and his Heavy.

Ignoring the damage he took from the grenade, he ran at his clone, deftly dodging stray bullets and shrapnel. He whipped out the Blutsauger and fired without taking aim.

It seemed to aim by itself, the syringes arching just over the enemy heavy's head and making contact with the RED doctor's flesh. An anguished cry escaped from the medic, and a smile tugged at the BLU's lips.

A rush, a sensation of pure energy and health flooded into Medic. The air seemed cleaner, and it felt like he could breathe normally, as if he weren't ill. Realization sank in just before the enemy Sniper's bullet found itself through his prefrontal lobe once again.

_He was the Blutsauger._

_._

_._

_._

Reality and the senses flooded back to him as Respawn restored his body.

He'd found his way out. If he managed to do enough damage during the battle, he could enjoy the rest of his day, maybe even his night, without worrying about sickness.

It was a miracle.

His mind raced. If he were to get the most health out of his enemies, he'd have to be light and quick. Unseen until it was too late, and when he would make himself visible, he would be the last thing his enemies saw. The white-coated figure covered in their blood.

He would get back at that damned RED medic for all the pain he'd caused him and his team.

Medic undid the straps that bound his Medi-pack to him and carefully set the backpack and the Medigun aside. He stocked up on ammo and drew out the Blutsauger, his Bonesaw nestled at his hip.

An explosion rocked the base and an alert was issued. The Announcer's voice echoed throughout the building.

"Alert! Our last point is being captured!"

He ran outside just as Engineer's sentry exploded and crumpled, giving whatever RED who was on the control point little resistance. Medic whipped out his saw and launched himself at the Scout that was capping the point, tackling the boy to the ground. The two rolled off to the side and into the dust, and a death cry rang out from the unfortunate Scout's body a few moments later. The German stood up quickly and drew out his Blutsauger, firing at any possibly retreating REDs. The area was quiet and desolate.

Time seemed to slow down as the RED Medic and Heavy rounded the corner, the doctor grinning maliciously as he spotted his counterpart standing alone near the control point.

"Zhe point is nearly ours, mein Lieb." he heard the medic say to his heavy, patting the Russian on the shoulder. "Let _me_ handle zhis."

Medic's blood ran cold. He was the only one defending the point. His teammates weren't anywhere nearby, perhaps they fell victim to whatever had exploded Engineer's sentry. A demoman, perhaps? They must be respawrning.

The RED had his hands folded behind his back and an almost bored expression on his face as he approached the BLU. Their coattails fluttered in the light wind that had kicked up.

"Ve meet again, BLU." the RED medic hummed, drawing out his Übersaw and cleaning its blade on his white coat, streaking it with red.

"Verpiss dich." Medic hissed, reloading the Blutsauger.

"Tsk. With that attitude, you might get kicked out of this war. Perhaps like you got kicked out of Germany all those years back-" Medic leapt forward, catching his opposite by the neck and bringing him to the ground with a thud. Red clashed with blue as the two clawed at eachothers' faces. The RED Heavy stood back and watched, unsure as to whether he should help out his partner or let him fight his battle with the BLU.

The Übersaw flew into view, and Medic moved out of the way just in time for it to miss his neck. However, it slashed as his arm, blood splattering and staining his labcoat. He kicked, his boot came into contact with his enemy's abdomen and launched the man off of him. He aimed the Blutsauger at his doppelgänger and fired, the needles drawing in energy and health. The wound on his arm scabbed over in seconds, healing quickly.

The RED medic stood up and tore out the fired syringes from his skin, unflinching as he did so. His spectacled eyes fell upon the Blutsauger, lingering on the weapon and lighting up in realization. Medic took this moment to fire again at his opponent, who moved just in time and jumped to tackle him to the ground, Übersaw in hand. The BLU switched to his Bonesaw, the two saws clashing, sparks flying for a split second. Medic glanced at the Übersaw's meter. It read about 75%. If his opponent managed to get one more hit in, he could easily Über…and he would win.

Medic stamped down onto the RED's foot, watching as his enemy howled in pain and recoiled. The BLU lashed out with his saw, and, with a well-timed strike, watched as his opposite fell. With an undignified thump, the RED collapsed, blood oozing from a wound at the base of his neck. Medic straightened up and brushed himself off. It was done.

The enemy heavy cried out, shouting something in Russian before charging at Medic. He drew out his Blutsauger and fired rapidly, syringes whistling through the air before coming into contact with the Russian's skin. This, however, did not stop the man from tackling Medic into the wall and pinning him there.

"Leetle man will _pay_. Is not _nice_ to keel Doktor." his stubbled face was contorted in anger and reddened with fury. The colossus of a man drew back his fist in preparation for the BLU's unrelenting beating, and Medic squeezed his eyes shut.

The punch didn't come, however. With a cry, the enemy heavy released him and was yanked back. Medic opened his eyes just in time to see his Heavy swing the enemy around and, with a well-placed punch that could kill a man, knocked the RED unconscious.

Maybe the punch killed him.

Honestly, Medic didn't care, because at that moment, his previously missing team emerged from the base, smiles decorating their faces, save for Pyro. Heavy wiped blood from his fists and turned back to Medic with a grin.

"Medic is credit to team."

Before the German could say anything, the alarms sounded and the Announcer's voice declared victory for the BLUs. The team whooped and hollered in response, dragging Medic into the base to go enjoy their victory and prepare a dinner feast.

"Good job out there, man." Scout patted the doctor on the back before running to the kitchen.

"Aye, laddie. We were watching' ye as ye' sent tha' nurse back to where she belongs!" Demoman clopped the doctor on the back, too, sending him forward into Heavy, who brought him into a hug.

"Da Doktor! Is good day to-"

"You all vere _vatching_ me? Vas…Vhy…" Medic stammered, shocked to hear that his teammates held back on purpose, and at such a crucial time. Engineer stepped closer to the German as they continued their walk through the base back to the infirmary.

"Yeah, doc. We get what'cher goin' through, so we didn't interfere with yer lil' fight with the other doc." he tipped his hardhat and ran forward to catch up with the others as they headed for the kitchen instead. Medic and Heavy made their way to the infirmary, unlocking the door and stepping inside the now-chilled room. Heavy quickly exclaimed that he had to go help the others with dinner, and left without another word, leaving Medic behind with a confused expression.

"Vhat - '_vhat I'm going through'_?" he quoted the Texan and mumbled to himself before he took his equipment off and sat down at his desk.

"Vhat is _zhat_ supposed to mean…?"

* * *

><p>Despite his desire to pitch in and help make dinner, Medic was shoved out of the cooking area and told to relax. The German sat down at his place at the table and biting his lip or twiddling his thumbs every time he heard a loud clang or a shout from the kitchen. He was fidgety, not being with his team, and even when they weren't in any real danger, he still worried for their safety.<p>

Even when they were _just_ in the kitchen, he felt obligated to keep those idiots - his friends - _his_ _**family**_, from burning their fingers or cutting their hands.

When dinner arrived, it was a wonderful assortment of dishes from each of the members ranging from Scout's typical pizza to Engineer's delicious American food to Spy's fancier, smaller dishes, to Pyro's charred pile of ash. Each congratulated Medic on his victory, and Soldier made a short speech about how America wins all wars, and the hearts of her Americans. After congratulating on the victory of BLU, they dug in.

"So," Scout started, chewing a large piece of meat as he spoke, "now that'cher done kickin' that other medic's ass, we'll be glad to have you back healin' us, man."

The others murmured in agreement, some even nodding their heads.

Medic's blood ran cold, but he kept a stoic face as he cut a piece of steak with a knife, gripping the utensil a bit harder than needed.

After a few minutes, Engineer spoke.

"After a little thought and watching you, Medic, ah think I've figured out what got'cha so sick in th' first place." the Texan gestured toward the doctor with his fork. "It makes sense, pardner, ah mean, your lookin' like a new man after today's battle. It all adds up."

Medic swallowed his bite of the meal whole, the food threatening to choke him. They figured it out? Engineer's been watching?

"_Y-you HAVE_?" Medic rasped, taking a swig of water and trying to keep the look of worry off of his face.

_They know my secret?_

* * *

><p>It's not a super nasty cliffhanger. It still counts as one, though.<p>

Reviews are loved, critiques are loved, too. I wish I was a better writer, honestly, so then I could actually portray my ideas properly. But alas, I'm just an illustrator with fun ideas


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